Secret Santa
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Twas the night before Christmas and...Severus Snape is trying to sleep. ADSS slashy festive nonsense.


Disclaimer: I am borrowing characters which belong to J.K. Rowling, without permission and not for profit.

This is a daft Christmas fic, with love to all Snape fans and slashers and special thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed my stuff in 2008. Very much appreciated. With love, Nightie x

…….

Snape was awoken by the sound of floorboards gently creaking and the sensation of someone moving around in the room.

Again.

He groaned and wrapped the warm covers tighter around him.

"Albus, honestly. Will you please just make an appointment with that bladder specialist?" He paused to clear his sleep-clogged throat. "I know you hate the idea but it's for the best."

There was no reply and the little noises stopped altogether. Accustomed to stealth and spying as he was, Snape could easily recognise the silence of someone trying very hard to pretend they weren't there.

"I can hear you," he yawned. Still receiving no response, he risked stretching an arm out of his snug blanket cocoon to verify that the space next to him in the ridiculously ornate four-poster was indeed empty. In addition to being empty, it was also cold, which meant that Albus had been up for a few minutes at least.

He lifted his head and squinted into the gloom. By the weak light of the glowing Christmas tree fairies in the adjoining sitting-room, the door to which was inexplicably open, he was just able to make out a shape standing at the foot of the bed. Albus was looking rather larger than usual.

"What are you wearing?" he asked with the irritation of one woken in the dead of night for no good reason.

"Nothing!" said Dumbledore quickly.

"I don't know why you insist on trying to lie to me," sneered Snape, in the especially sarcastic tone he used for making first years and his lover squirm. "Quite apart from the fact that anyone walking stark naked around a medieval castle in the Scottish Highlands on a snowy night in late December would have to be either mad or suicidal, and apart from the fact that I can see you are wearing clothes with my own eyes, I can always tell when you're fibbing."

"I know," sighed Albus with resignation. "I was with the board of governors for so long this afternoon I've been temporarily infected with dunderheaded stupidity. You're far too clever for me tonight, pumpkin."

"Mmph," went Snape, who sometimes pretended to object to the pet-name and sometimes didn't. "So, what is it you're wearing? Must I cast a lumos?"

"No! Don't! You mustn't spoil…"

"Spoil what? Are you…Albus!" he huffed. "You're not wearing one of the _special_ outfits? At this time of night when you know how tired I am? Because if you are, you needn't think that I'm going to play Detention or Quidditch Rubdown or Bad Auror…"

"Severus, don't be grumpy, it's nothing like that," Dumbledore interrupted the tirade using his most winsome voice. "I've managed not to wake you for the past fifteen Christmas eves so I don't know what I did wrong this time. I'm sorry, pumpkin."

For the first time, Snape noticed that he appeared to have on a fur-trimmed hat with a large bobble dangling from it. In the dim light, his beard also seemed fluffier than usual and he was carrying something large and lumpy. Something about the silhouette looked very familiar, and given that it was Christmas Eve…

Biting his lip to suppress the giggle brewing in his belly, Snape lit the room with a spell and was rewarded with the utterly ridiculous sight of Dumbledore dressed at Father Christmas, complete with red and white suit, bushy beard, huge sack of presents and a very sheepish expression.

The giggle exploded and Snape fell back onto the bed, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks and his nose started to run. Albus walked round and sat next to him, delighted at the rare sound of his unrestrained laughter.

"I can't believe I woke you up this year! I'm usually so careful. Now, answer honestly - does the outfit suit me?" he asked, falsely earnest. Another gale of hilarity overtook Snape and Dumbledore could not help but wrap his arms around the shaking body as he struggled to regain control.

"You're so handsome when you laugh," he beamed.

"Oh, hush," chided Snape, wiping his nose. "I've never been handsome and neither am I likely to be, and as I've warned you before - any more comments in that vein and I'll feed all your lemon sherbets to the giant squid."

Dumbledore giggled at the empty threat and kissed his forehead, his cheek, then planted a long, slow one on his lips before he was pushed away.

"Wait! This conversation is not over," Snape attempted to cover up the lingering amusement on his face with a stern frown.

"Isn't it?" Albus asked innocently. Snape ignored him.

"Does this mean that every Christmas Eve since we've been together, you have dressed up in that ridiculous costume and delivered my presents to the foot of the bed while I slept?"

"Yes!" Albus grinned proudly, adjusting his Santa hat to sit at what he probably considered to be a jaunty angle.

Snape was utterly bewildered by the revelation. He had grown accustomed to the very many eccentricities of the man he loved - strange reading matter, unusual desserts, the frankly bizarre thing he did in the bath with the loofah - but this one seemed the oddest yet.

"Whatever for? I can understand that you enjoy delivering gifts yourself, but why the outfit if I'm always asleep?" he asked. Dumbledore's smile faded.

"The first December after we got together I asked you to tell me all about the Christmases you'd had as a child. In addition to wanting to know more about my darling Severus, I was curious about the muggle traditions. There seem to be so many of them; different in every country and even varying from one household to the next, so I was feeling very flippant and jolly when I asked all about Father Christmas." Snape looked away and Albus paused to squeeze his hand. "I see you remember. Well, when you told me quite curtly that Father Christmas had never been to your house, I was devastated."

"Oh, Albus," Snape hated to see the look of grief on his lover's face, especially over something which had happened so long ago. He reached up to gently stroke a tangle out of the long white beard. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," said Dumbledore, with simple seriousness. "I hated the thought of you having missed out on so much when you were small. I had visions of you alone in your room on Christmas day while other children played and had fun with their new toys outside and I can't tell you how much it upset me. I knew that you would think me foolish for wanting to dress up while I gave you your gifts, but it made me feel better, somehow, to know that you got your visit from Santa eventually."

Neither wizard spoke for a few moments after the moving confession. There was a dangerous prickling sensation at the back of Snape's eyes which he had to concentrate on willing away.

"And the next year?" he asked when he trusted his voice once more.

"Well," the grin returned to Albus' face. "The next year I remembered how good it had felt to secretly make up for lost time and how much fun it was dressing up, sneaking in and hoping I didn't wake you. So I did it again."

Snape pulled him into a hug and shook his head with amused disbelief. Even after fifteen years of partnership and countless more as friends, the barmy old man still had the power to surprise him. The silly red suit felt cosy and nice to cuddle - so much so, in fact, that Snape suspected he had even used padding to create the proper effect. It was hard to believe that anyone would go to so much trouble on his behalf. The tears which had threatened earlier broke out and he buried his face in Albus' long hair to hide them, along with his intermingled feelings of unworthiness and pure joy at being loved so dearly.

"Thank you, Albus," he whispered.

Albus felt a drop of moisture trickle down his neck and he squeezed harder.

"Merry Christmas, Severus."

…….


End file.
